Be My Escape
by irritablegrizzlylover
Summary: The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, as do Bella's. Luckily there's a green-eyed boy who's taken notice of her, but for all the wrong reasons. Strict and straitlaced vs. haughty rebellion. Can they balance each other out? Or do both lose?


**Hello, it's me again. With another reboot. Hope you like it. **

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

I Gotta Get Out of Here

**(BPOV)**

Everything here reminded me of him.

Of what had happened.

Of what I had become after it all started that night two years ago.

Even if he was already out of my life for good, everywhere I turned I saw something that brought all the memories back to life.

_Two years._

Two years I'd spent shoving each incident into the deepest corner of my mind, hiding it all, pretending like it was all some sick and twisted dream that didn't exist.

To the general public I was the traditional social delinquent. I sowed the seeds of rebellion and turned all of your kids minds to soggy mush with my sex-crazed, eccentric, hard-partying, fuck-the-man ways.

I was up for anything.

No one knew that the sex, the drugs, the alcohol, the partying, all the shit, was me trying, very unsuccessfully thus far I might add, to forget him. To eradicate the very thought that he ever existed and I ever knew him. To me each one was a form of escape. A silent cry for help. A show for the outside world to prove that I had some shred of control.

Over my own body.

Over myself.

Over _my life_.

It was easier this way, living in a strange and dangerous fiction instead of facing the reality of what he had done to me.

Only the façade mattered to most people anyways.

So as long as I could be the girl that every girl was jealous of, that every guy wanted to fuck, that everybody wanted to be friends with because she was the mysterious crazy chick who didn't give a damn about what anyone thought, about what stereotypes and misconceptions people had about her, no one needed to know that I was five seconds away from committing suicide.

My mom was usually too busy and preoccupied with her latest fad to notice anything. She's my mom and deep down I love her, but she has the mentality of a four-year-old, so I'll let you put two and two together and figure out who raised whom.

I distinctly remember severely, and unsuccessfully, trying not to laugh my ass off when the cops pulled me over for drunk driving and told me that they needed to speak to one of my parents about keeping their underage daughter under control.

I'd been pretty smashed, so I failed to register that what I was thinking was no longer separate from what was being said aloud…involuntarily at that point…and told them that I'd raised myself, since my mom was nothing short of a Beverly Hills airhead, and if they needed to talk to a "parent" then they might as well just wait for me to sober up.

As you can imagine that didn't go over too well with the cops. Especially after I'm pretty sure I ended up dumping the contents of my stomach on one of them. Not that the douchebags didn't deserve it.

Needless to say I spent the night in el slammer until mommy dearest ran in screaming, yes screaming you can imagine how much I loved that, what with the incessant ringing in my ears and a headache designed by Satan himself, and threw a temper tantrum about how unfair the law was toward minors and how cops should be focused on catching violent and despicable criminals (and the little voice in my head is screaming at her 'You're living with one!') instead of pulling over young girls coming home from parties because, and I quote, 'children need to just let loose and relax every once in a while just like adults, so what's a few shots here and there?'

I'm surprised that they didn't arrest her on the spot for that. And if I remember correctly, once she'd bailed me out, she stuck her tongue out at the sheriff. She's forty. My mother is an embarrassment to parenting worldwide

But I digress.

I had to grow up pretty fast and everything he had done to me only made me lose whatever shred of innocence I still had, that much faster.

I might only be seventeen, but I've done and been through more crazy fucked up shit than most people go through in a lifetime. How I managed not to get thrown into a nut hut is seriously beyond me.

It was getting fucking hard to pretend like nothing had happened, now that Renee and James were no longer an item. He'd moved out and she'd moved on to her latest boytoy. At least this one didn't look like too much of a creep…then again neither did James at first.

It had happened so many times right here in this very house.

In _my_ house.

In _my_ room.

In _my_ living room.

In _my_ kitchen.

He might be gone, but nearly every room was marred with his presence and it was slowly driving me psycho, like that nut hut I mentioned, yeah a few more weeks of this and I'd end up there no doubt on a 72 hour lockdown with a Thorazine drip. I had to get out of here if I intended to keep up my charade and what was left of my sanity.

And so that's what I did.

I packed up my shit, strictly essentials, left a note for my mother, she wouldn't miss me much, not that it would alter her daily routine...schedule...lifestyle...whatever, and got on a bus to Washington.

Hopefully my brother will let me crash on his couch for a while.

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><p><strong>Reviews, opinions, thoughts, criticism, all welcome. <strong>


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